What better way to catch up with friends while in town than hosting a small get-together? Whip up some snacks, bring out the nog (soy and regular, of course, we're in Vancouver after all), and put on the holiday playlist 'cause 5-10 of your nearest and dearest are coming to town. And by town, I mean my parents' basement where I will be holed up until mid January.
There's not a whole lot of space in this little suite, so I had to be discerning with the invite list, knowing full well that I could end up with as few as two guest — I count as one, right? Still, I hoped for the best and set the start time for my shindig a little on the early side so friends could come straight after work.
My first guest arrived around 5:45 and chatted with me while I continued to cut up pita bread and display cheese and pâté on an old serving platter I found out in the garage. We had some of the food but decided it would be best to pour the first rum and eggnogs of the evening and play a game of Scrabble (also rescued from the aforementioned garage) so that there would still be food left when the others arrived.
Of course, pulling out the board games meant turning our backs on the table of temptations and leaving it vulnerable to a little black and white kitty who also came home for the holidays. I couldn't blame him, truth be told pâté is essentially the grandfather of cat food, and he was probably wondering why I'd gone and put the Fancy Feast out with the humus. As I laid down my next triple word score and Eartha Kitt's "Santa Baby" blared out of my MacBook, there was suddenly a lightening-quick licking sound coming from two feet behind me: kitty had made it to his goose liver goal.
Maybe I should have thrown it out. Maybe I should have at least cut the kitty tongue tainted portion off of the little pâté loaf. But instead, I failed as a hostess: I had a good laugh and made my only guest, and subsequently the only vegetarian on the guest list, promise not to tell anyone about my little indiscretion. Perhaps it was my passive aggressive response to my lack of visitors, or maybe just a sign that I'm becoming a bona fide crazy cat lady, unable to discern between right and wrong where feline activities are concerned.
All in all, the evening wasn't a total disaster: the five of us filled the 10' by 8' den perfectly, and we made a valiant effort to eat as many cookies and crackers as we could. The two friends who arrived first headed off toward the SkyTrain in a sleepy and satiated stupor, and my other guest and her boyfriend brought me to a private hipster dance party in the basement common room of a building on Powell Street where we were treated to a live heavy metal show before the dancing and '90s pop music began. Complimentary earplugs were passed around, and being a straggler, I was last to stick my hand into the bag of aural protection. Unfortunately, there was only one plug left and my other ear had to suffer, but it was good fun and I can safely say it will probably be a long time before I hear "MMMBop" following a death metal performance.
(From December 21, 2010)
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